Wednesday, May 14, 2008

I am not the Kevin referred to in the writing below from Kelly Adkins. It does remind me of “special” people I have known or volunteered with over the decades. I want to take time and share this with you and encourage comments below.

I live in an Arab and Muslim country, Kuwait, where the same message can be shared with those who practice Islam, i.e. “Christianity” as shared in one of the last paragraphs.

In Kuwait and in some Arab lands, like UAE’s Sharjah have been active in promoting awareness on the needs of the handicapped in their society. Alas, centuries of biases need to be overcome to a much much greater degree in months and years to come.

GOD LIVES UNDER THE BED

By Kelly Adkins

Don't start reading this one until you've got more than 3 or4 minutes to just "scan" over it. It deserves some time forreflection.

I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under hisbed. At least that's what I heard him say one night.

He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stoppedto listen,

"Are you there, God?" he said. "Where are you? Oh, I see.Under the bed..."

I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin'sunique perspectives are often a source of amusement. Butthat night something else lingered long after the humor. Irealized for the first time the very different world Kevinlives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result ofdifficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.

He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a7-year-old, and he always will.He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed,that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under ourtree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the skybecause angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different.

Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?

Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for thedisabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat hisfavorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.

The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when hehovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother withher newborn child.

He does not seem dissatisfied.

He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for aday of simple work.

He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on thestove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week togather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.

And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays!That's the day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have asoft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly onthe destination of each passenger inside.

"That one's goin' to Chi-car-go!" Kevin shouts as he clapshis hands.

His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Fridaynights.

And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend fieldtrips.

He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.

His life is simple.

He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, andhe does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats.His needs have always been met, and he never worries thatone day they may not be.

His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when heis working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums thecarpet, his heart is completely in it.

He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he doesnot leave a job until it is finished.But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.

He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. Hisheart is pure.

He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must bekept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead ofargue.

Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin isnot afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry.He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trustsGod.Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes toChrist, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - toreally be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an"educated" person to grasp. God seems like his closestcompanion.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my ChristianityI envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.

It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has somedivine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.

It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with thehandicap . . I am.My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - theyall become disabilities when I do not trust them to God'scare.

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn?After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind ofinnocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodnessand love of God.

And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and weare all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts,I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy whobelieved that God lived under his bed.